


Wanna Play?

by casstayinmyass



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anniversary, Biting, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Charles Doesn't Know How To Emotion, Child's Play Canon AU, Choking, Coda, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Human!Charles, Idiots in Love, Killer!Charles, Pre-Canon, Romance, Rough Body Play, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Slasher Love, Stripper Reader, except when he does
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Infamous serial killer Charles Lee Ray doesn't seem the type for girlfriends, yet you and he have been living together perfectly well. Will your patience run out when your love for him is put to the ultimate test?(Child's Play, but Charles has his girl to help him this time.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Charles both forget your anniversary. It’s a race to see who finds out the other doesn’t know first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to the movie.

The wind whips Charles’ long hair into a frenzy as he finally makes it underground. All he has to do is wait here for a while, and the cops will lose his trail—that’s how it always worked. Besides being chased by basically the entire police department, he’d had a strange feeling all night. Maybe it was just his survival instinct, but he had the idea in his head that he had overlooked something important.

_Ah, well. Life is important enough to just stick to staying alive out here._

Wiping the blood off his hands (seriously, the motherfucker had the nerve to choke up blood during a  _strangling_?!) Charles waited. He ran a hand through his hair, which was now horribly tangled, and your voice filled his head, telling him to  _borrow one of your scrunchies, for Christsake_. That’ll be the fucking day, when victims and cops alike see Charles Lee Ray with his hair up in a pretty pink scrunchie. He tells you he’d look like a weirdo. You insist he already looks like a weirdo, and that he’d at least look like a cute one.

Charles can’t help but crack a small smile, at how much you love pissing him off.

Moments like these where he actually got to take a pause and chill the hell out were good. He could think about you. Think about you and him. He slides down the wall to finally relax, and to pass the time, tries to think of the last time you came onto him.

_Three nights ago. You were wearing that baby blue nightgown… and those panties, god, those fuckin’ panties. Your voice, telling him you want him, telling him you need to feel him deep inside you. Yeah…_

Charles opens his eyes, and sighs. He’s a lowlife, but he’s not quite at the perv level to jerk off in a subway. He’ll have plenty of time for that when he gets home. As he checks his watch and stands though, he gets that nagging feeling again. What  _is_  it that he’s forgetting?

As he climbs the stairs, he does a double take, and nearly slides right down them.

“FUCK!”

His voice echoes, and he looks around, making sure nobody’s about to come running. He lets out an aggrieved noise, and takes the stairs two at a time with his spindly long legs, dashing up. It’s your anniversary. It’s your god damn one year anniversary! Forget the Lakeshore Strangler, he’d be the fucking strangling VICTIM when he walks in at this hour. 

Charles had never kept a girlfriend this long. In his defence, he didn’t know what to do! Maybe couples just let it slide. Maybe lots of people didn’t do anything.

_Bullshit. You can’t talk your way outta this one, asshole. You better find a god damn shield to walk in that front door with, cause she’s gonna start pitching shit at you._

_Or crying. What if she’s crying? I don’t do crying._

_Fucking anniversaries. Who needs em?_

Still. He did want to show you some appreciation for sticking with a douche bag like him for this long. Lord knows he hasn’t made it easy. Despite this, you had made it clear to him time and time again that it was ride or die for the two of you. So the least he could do was buy some fucking chocolates or something.

Where was he supposed to find chocolates at this hour?

—

You sling your bag over your shoulder. You hadn’t bothered getting changed after tonight’s show, just slipped your faded leather jacket over your stripping outfit. On the left arm of the coat, a badly stitched ‘Chucky’ with a heart around it had been sewn in by you—your nickname for your boyfriend. You smile as you sink deeper into the garment.

It always made you happy coming home to Charles, after a long night of bartending and dancing. That’s the thing for you. No matter what he does, what you two go through, or what goes wrong, as long as you’re both happy and have  _some_  code of mutual respect, that’s the only thing that matters. And that’s the difference between you and the fifty other girls that have been in Charles life in the past—he respects you, oddly. He may call you names and initiate the biggest fights you’ve ever had, but at the end of the day, he never treats you like you’re anything less than he is. And that’s where your partnership thrives.  

You start to wonder what he’ll be up to when you get home. This time of night, he’s usually either passed out or reading about some of his personal interests—latest being voodoo. You smile as you imagine coming home, wrapping your arms around him from behind. He’d swat you on the hand, tell you he’s trying to read, then you’d tell him that you were about to re-enact tonight’s routine on him in the bedroom, and watch him trot after you like a puppy.  

You take out your phone to check if he’s texted you at all. Strangely, the last two texts you have from him are ones he sent this morning.

_FuckyChucky <3:_

-          _Please tell me that my name is not still FuckyChucky in your phone._

-          _I’m fuckin horny. Wanna send me a pic of your tits so I can rub one out in the washroom?_

Your boyfriend, the charmer.

You frown. If he does go to bed without you, he usually texts you a good night… in the form of a  _‘where the fuck are you?’_  or  _‘decided to go home with a high roller tonight instead of me? He may be able to pay, but you know I’m a better lay.’_ You smirk. The asshole loved to piss you off.  

As you walk toward the bus station, you think of the last time he wanted you. He had been restless beside you as you read his voodoo for dummies book, and finally just took it from you, tossing it away. That night had ended with you gripping his long hair, tugging it back as he fucked you on his lap.

Smiling hazily and dreaming of blue eyes, you scroll further down your phone, and come to your calendar.

“SHIT!”

You cover your mouth, looking around to see if anyone around the back alley had heard you. Thank god there was no one around.

It’s your anniversary! How could you have forgotten something like this?

You bite your nails as you think of Charles. Oh god, he probably did something sweet, something totally unlike him, he probably went out on a limb and swore he’d never do it again. Now he’ll think that you don’t care, so his effort was dumb, and he’ll never attempt romance with you again. You know how he works, and it was going to be a disaster.  

“Shit shit shit, babe,” you whisper, hastening your pace to the station, “I’m coming.”

—

Charles stares up at the house you two live in, and looks around, scratching his head. He’s going to have to do this carefully, so as not to make it look like he’s breaking in. To his own house.

He starts to climb the tree to make it onto the roof and sneak in from the bedroom, and nearly loses his balance as a boom of thunder goes off. Rain starts to pour as he curses to himself, and wobbles again as he steps on a loose shingle.  _Wouldn’t that be peachy? Happy anniversary babe, I fell off the roof and broke my neck._

In her lilac bathrobe, Mrs. Merri from next door comes bustling out onto her porch, looking up and gasping. Charles looks down.

“Oh. I, uh… forgot the key!” he waves, watching her go tutting back inside. “Nosy fuckin’ bitch.” He focuses back on getting inside, and sees that you left the second floor window open.  _Yes!_

_Well. He should have a talk with you about that tomorrow. Leaving the window open just invites creepy killers in in the dead of night. Like him. But does he want competition? Hell no!_

He climbs up further, grabbing for the sill.

Downstairs, you rush to the front door, and grab your key out. You’re nearly soaked now, which won’t help when you come in dripping, but all you’re trying to do is avoid getting caught.

You hope he’s given up and fallen asleep as you carefully turn the lock, then realize it’s the wrong key. Fuck! You forgot the house key inside. You can’t very well ring the bell and wake him up… Aha! Lock picking.

As you get the pin and paperclip out, you turn and notice Mrs. Merri from next door watching you incredulously from her porch.

“Hi! Forgot the key,” you smile, and scowl as she hurries back inside. “Fucking nosy bitch.” The door clicks, and you silently do a little dance as you get it open, being as quiet as you can. Hanging your coat up, you squeeze out your hair, and slowly pad up the stairs.

As you get up to the hall, you turn, looking down it as you walk backward into the bedroom…

“Y-AHHHH!” a male voice yells.

You let out a bloodcurdling scream as you turn and see someone toppling in through the window. You grab the nearest thing you can find—a rolled up Fangoria magazine—and start hitting the intruder with it.

“YOU’RE DEAD! YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD!”

“Would you—quit—hittin’ me—ah!!”

“MY BOYFRIEND WILL KICK YOUR ASS, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO HE IS?!”

“YEAH, ME!”

You pause, hearing your boyfriend’s voice. Kneeling down, you check him, and cover your mouth. “Oh, shit. Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? You mean after my girlfriend just beat me?!” He swishes the wet strands of hair out of his face, and sighs. “Man. I guess I deserved it.”

You frown. “Why?”

He hesitates. Why?  _Why? She’s gotta be playing dumb… but she genuinely doesn’t look mad. What if… she forgot too?_

 _“_ Oh, just ‘cause. Y’know. Me.”

You tilt your head. “Valid point, but no no, you did not deserve that, baby.” You lean over his face, staring upside down into his deep blue orbs, and press your lips to his. His eyes close, and he reaches up, cupping your cheeks and kissing back like he’s touch starved.  

“What were you doing out in this weather?” you mumble against his mouth. He looks up and down your face, licking his lips.

“Groceries.”

“Where are the groceries?”

“You got me. I killed someone.”

“Figures.” You suddenly start to think… if he was out doing that… and… seemed just as surprised to see you coming in… then—

“You don’t… know what day it is?”

Charles gulps.  _So maybe she did remember._  “Uh. Of course!” He narrows his eyes. “Do… you?”

“Of course,” you scoff, “You think I’d forget?”

“You think  _I’d_  forget?!”

You both stare at each other for a very long time in a standoff, on the floor of your bedroom, soaking the hardwood floors. A shrill voice from outside the window interrupts your staring contest.

“Yoo hoo! Mr. and Mrs. Ray! I heard screaming and wondered if everything was alright!”

You and Charles crawl up to the window on your hands and knees, peeking just over the sill together to watch the busybody old woman next door trying to crane her neck to see.

“She does know we’re not married, right?” Charles whispers.

“Let the bitch think we are, so she doesn’t leave a bible on our front doorstep.”

“Can I  _please_  strangle her?” Charles hisses.

“She bakes us snickerdoodles,” you pout. Charles swears under his breath, and you close the window, turning to him again. “So… about today.”

“What about it?” he narrows his eyes.

“Did you…?”

“Did  _you_?”

“No, I…”

“Well  _I_  didn’t…”

Charles is the first one to admit it. “Okay! I fucking forgot about the anniversary. Alright? I’ll be a big man here, and lay it all on the line. I was gonna stop off and buy you some flowers, or… swipe some from the cemetery, at least. But the cops’ve been after me all night, I figured it wasn’t safe. Plus, cemeteries just aren’t a good time this late at night.”

“Right.”

“Hey, I’ve got a legitimate reason why I couldn’t. What’s your excuse?”

“Oh, a legitimate reason? You mean you had to choke that person to death tonight? Was anyone holding a gun to your head?!”

“The fucking cops were.”

“Not to  _do_  it, asshole!” You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. I forgot too.”

“I KNEW–!”

“You didn’t know shit, shut the fuck up. Besides, I was earning money, dancing.”

“You work too much.”

“You don’t work at all.”

“Oh, is this how tonight’s gonna go?”

“Just—”

“How do you know I wasn’t gonna give you something better than chocolates, anyway?”

You pause, arms crossed, and raise an eyebrow. “Define better.”

“Something… that lasted a little longer.”

“I’m listening.”  

He comes up behind you, hot breath ghosting your neck. “Chew on this, babe. How would you like to have 9 inches filling you for the next hour or two?”

You smirk up at him. “More like 7.”

“8.”

“Hard.”

“Fine,” he grits out, “Don’t hear you complaining.” You giggle, and turn to palm him through his tight pants, watching as his lips part. He walks you back against the windowsill. “Fuck, baby… let me get inside you.”

“Charles,” you whisper, getting your hands under his shirt and bunching it up, “I want you so bad.”

You two get over to the bed, and he gets on top of you. He peels his shirt off, making you bite your lip as he reveals his pale, muscular abs. He’s not got huge muscles, but he’s lithe and tall—perfect to you. He tilts your chin back up. “I was fully prepared for hate sex, y'know. A little slapping around… a few bruises tomorrow morning, the usual.”

“I was prepared for make up sex.”

He nods, black hair falling across his face. “We do have pretty good make up sex.”

You bite your finger coyly. “Should we fight and then make up then?”

“Too horny to fight. I’m sure that’ll come later. Just let me fuck you.”

Your toes curl as your legs wrap around his back. Charles reaches down, eyes flickering up to you with that dangerous glint as he tugs your panties down just enough.

“So fucking wet for me,” he hisses, slipping two fingers in and scissoring them. You arch up as he curves the digits, and groan.

“Charles, I need your cock!” He takes his fingers out, and licks them, one by one.

“That’s right, babe. Scream my name. Tell em all who’s gonna make you come.”

“Charles, omigod!”

He reaches down and unzips his fly, getting between your legs. As he gets his cock out, you flip on top of him, and lower down. He lets out a long, appreciative noise.

“Babe, babe! You don’t know what you do to me…” He bites his bottom lip. “Ahh, I can’t get enough of you. I crave this pussy every damn day.”

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere,” you breathe, rocking back and forth. You were only teasing him about his size– Charles is fairly larger than average in that department, and you know it better than anyone (especially since he flaunts the fact in your face all the time).

“I still think you should be punished a little for forgetting our anniversary,” you tease, and Charles starts to protest.

“But you–”

“Shh,” you grin, “Let it happen.” You pinch his nipples, and he cries out. Whenever he tries to move his hips up, you lift so he can’t thrust in. He gives you a look.

“I swear to fucking god I’m gonna kill you,” he growls. You just smile, despite the chills.

“Try.” You lean down and kiss him, but stop, pulling away again. He lets out an aggravated yell.

“C'mon!”

“Does Chucky want?” you ask in a baby voice, “Does he want me to fuck him? Slide down over his nice big cock and fuck him?”

Charles clenches his fists in the sheets at your baby talk, reluctant to lose control. But that’s what you’re counting on. He seethes.

“Give me the power, I beg of you.”

“Oooh, yeah… does  _big bad_  Charles Lee Ray wanna fuck his girl? Is that what you want?” You drag yourself over him, and his hands fly to your hips as he clenches his jaw.

“Babe, I’m warning you–”

“Take what you want, Charles.”

“Fair fuckin’ warning–!”

“Take it, fuck me!”

He finally grabs you by your hair, flipping you two over so he’s in behind, and your stomach is pressed to the mattress.

“Let’s not forget, babe,” he gives a small, sadistic smile, “I’m the Lakeshore Strangler.” He lets out a chilling laugh. Holding you in place with one hand in your hair and the other around your neck, he finally thrusts in from behind, making you gasp.

“Charles,” you breathe, seeing stars, and he tightens his grip, giving the bed’s box springs a work-out. The headboards hit the wall, pound after pound, leaving deeper indents in the already marked up wood. You gasp for air, the pleasure of the sex heightening, but you’re gonna pass out if you don’t take back the power soon.

You scream helplessly as you turn around under him and knock his hands off you. He snatches you back, but he lets out a yelp of surprise as you push him rough. He comes closer, holding your hips down with one hand as he rubs your clit with the other, rocking his hips in deep.

“Fuck… fuck, you’re such a good girl for daddy,” he rasps out, “Gonna fuck you so dirty, fuck this pussy good.” You blink up at him momentarily.

“Is daddy liking it?”

“Oh fuck yeah he is, babygirl. A whole lot.”

You smirk, and as he attempts to hold you down again, you sink your teeth into his shoulder.

“AH!” he shouts, and holds you down by the neck, choking you some more as you chase your orgasm. Your hands fly up from his arms to his jaw, getting some of his blood on his face.

“Cha–Charles… Charlesss…” you sigh, breasts arching up. Charles gets a good eyeful, and starts to laugh as he feels his climax approach as well. The laughter fills the room, and you feel the pleasure build. “Charles! Ah!” You start to scream his name, and he pounds you even harder, screaming as well as you dig your long nails into his back, drawing even more blood.

In a rush, both of you come hard, gasping and shouting until you’re finished.

Charles stays on top of you on his forearms, letting you go, and you gaze up at him. A smile develops on your lips, as you watch your man catch your breath.

“That was athletic,” you comment, tugging his hair down to curtain your face. He blinks, finally sitting up. He rubs the blood off his face and gingerly touches his bite.

“That was insane,” he corrects.

You sigh happily, wrapping your arms around your moody, temperamental boyfriend from behind and kissing his cheek in a tender caress. “Just another night at the Ray household.” He smirks too, and kisses your hands.

“Happy anniversary, sweet cheeks.”

You giggle. “Happy anniversary, Chucky.”


	2. Chapter 2

Thunder booms as you let yourself in the house. Hurrying inside before it starts to rain, you wonder how the weather could have turned so fast-- just a minute ago, it had been a clear night Chicago sky. You hope Charles remembered a rain coat... then again, he always wears that ridiculous trenchcoat. Fashion over functionality, you always fondly tease. 

Hesitation stops you from going into your house though-- the door is at a crack. You push it open with a creak, and look around nervously as the rational half of your brain works overtime. If Charles was here, he'd probably yell threats that would make goddamn Sylvester Stallone hightail it out before even letting you take a step in. As fear creeps into your stomach, you wish you boyfriend was with you.

Then you begin to look at it logically. You had left the door open earlier on your way to the club. _Yes, that's it. Or Charles himself!_ Charles never remembers his damn key, he probably left it open for himself. But... he usually always makes sure the house is secure for you.

You look around inside to find the house dark and cold. "Hun?!" you call out, shaking the rain off your coat, "Charles, baby? You home?!"

You turn back, locking the door, and shiver. Charles was out late at nights, and whenever he didn't come home, you always worried they had finally caught him. You'd tell him as much when he would come in at 1, sometimes 2, and he'd always say the same thing: _"Babe-- the day they catch Charles Lee Ray is the day they kill me."_

\---

Sirens wail behind Charles as he runs as fast as his feet can take him without tripping. Holding his gun up in one hand, he uses the other to propel himself forward as the cop gains on him.

A gunshot rings out, and Charles shoots back, looking around. His last resort is the storefront of a toy shop, and he quickly jumps behind the brick wall.

God, (y/n)'s gonna have my ass if she sees me coming home with bullet holes through this trenchcoat. She's always telling me, go for functionality over--

"Ray!"

Charles flinches, peering over his shoulder. The son of a bitch was too far away to get a clear shot, so he might as well make a run for it.

His hair bobs in the wind as he dashes toward his partner's van, the guy he was working with this time.

Another gunshot rings out, and unimaginable pain blossoms through his leg. Charles drops to the ground, skinning his hands. Through the shock, he can't help but crave your arms around him. He can hear your voice telling him to get up, keep running, come home to you. The only reason you let him do this at all is his reassurance that they'd never catch him.

_Time to make good on that promise._

As he does get up though, the van starts to pull away. Charles panics.

"EDDIE! Eddie, don't leave me, please god, no!" His voice cracks, and tears threaten to fall. He stops them before they can, and screws up his face in fury and agony as he hops back to the toy store. He can hold off the cop... draw him out, then shoot the bastard.

\---

You mix yourself a martini, and get to thinking. The nights Charles are home are fun. You would sneak up on him, watch him jump out of his skin. He got very focused when he was practicing his voodoo, and never expected arms to wrap around him. He never complained though, with the stuff you coax him into.

You think fondly back to the last blowjob you gave him... how he'd initially been mad you'd interrupted him. All those curses faltered once you sunk to your knees and unzipped his fly though, as they usually did. His hands were tugging your hair in no time as you brought him to a great fucking orgasm faster than usual-- he blamed the outfit you'd been wearing all day on his, eh... overstimulation.

You sit down on the couch, pulling your heels off and tossing them. You don't bother to turn the living room lamp on-- you'll surprise Charles when he does get home, if you haven't fallen asleep by then. You smile to yourself, thinking of how he'll try to creep in and grimace as the door clicks shut, his long hair wet and clinging to his face. He'd probably stub his toe and end up waking you up with the string of swears he'd let loose, then apologize by promising some kind of massage he didn't know how to give.

Your heart aches a little, wishing he would hold you during the storm. That's your favourite thing to do when you're both home in this creaky old house during a storm... cuddle, let his waves of ebony hair fall over you and pretend no one can ever reach the two of you, as long as you both live.

Of course, Charles'll be home shortly, you're sure of it. You don't know why you're getting all sentimental all of a sudden. Charles would probably have a fucking field day laughing at you if he knew you'd been sitting on the couch, crying over him like some war bride.

Anyway. Not too much longer now. He always makes sure to come home to you by at least the witching hour ("It's bad luck to stay out past then, honey," you hear him telling you adamantly).

\---   
"Give it up, Ray! It's over!"

_It can't be over. It can't be fucking over._

Moonlight reflects off the puddles. The wind is bone chilling, echoes of gunfire loud in his brain. Thinking fast, Charles shoots the door, and hobbles inside the toy shop. The cop is hot on his heels, as Charles' mind spins. How the hell is he gonna get out of here? He just cornered himself! But he couldn't very well stay out there...

_God damn leg hurts like a bitch!_

More shots are fired. Charles gasps, and looks down.

_No. No, no, no._

_What the hell would (y/n) do?!_

He starts to think of his book. His voodoo book! 

"I gotta find somebody," he wheezes, grabbing at the wall like it's your arm, "I gotta find somebody." His eyes zero in on somebody-- a little somebody.

_God. She's gonna freak the fuck ou...._

\---

As the minutes tick by, you get more and more restless. You turn on a single lamp, huffing, and flick on the TV for some background noise at least.

"--winning 7 to 4, an unfortunate hold em defeat for Miss Til--"

"--seventeen Chad, and she's my sister, you bastard--"

"--following a triple homicide in the inner city."

You stop flicking at the news-- the murders were always the best to watch, especially if you hear mention of your darling "Lakeshore Strangler." 

After a few minutes of useless news about the zoo and raising gas prices though, you get up to get some food ready for Charles to heat up when he gets home. You take some Swedish meatballs out from the fridge, and start to unwrap them. As you do, you hear something that catches your attention.

"--This just in. The infamous Lakeshore Strangler, who has terrorized Chicago for years..." You smirk to yourself, and saunter back over, licking some sauce off your little finger.

"Okay. Let's see what you've been up to tonight, honeypie," you grin as you turn the volume up.

"--real name Charles Lee Ray, was shot dead in a toy store in Chicago's East end tonight. Police are still searching for his partner Eddie Caputo, who fled the scene and left his partner to a grisly demise."

The words fade together into a garble of meaningless noise as you cover your mouth, almost falling to the ground. Your knees shake together, flames licking out of a storefront playing back on the TV.

"No," is all you can whisper, then the tears come. You fall over and sob into the pillows, whining and crying. You're crying so loudly for so long you don't even hear the scuttle of small shoes on the hardwood behind you.

More thunder booms, but you barely hear it as you sniffle.

"Charles, you i-di-ot," you gasp between sobs, crying into the pillow. You send a drink coaster hurtling at the TV, watching the power blast out on the image of your boyfriend's bloody body. "God dammit Chucky, you fu-fu-fucking IDIOT!" You beat your fists into the pillow as your world comes crashing down around you.

"Hey! What the fuck did I do now?"

You shoot up with a piercing scream, jumping to your feet and clutching the pillow. You turn around, holding your breath.   
"Who said that?"

"I did."

You swing around, sobbing. "M-m-my boyfriend just died, you insensitive fuck, couldn't you have broken in any other night?!" 

"DOWN HERE!"

"...where?"

An angry growl. "What, are you blind all of a sudden, (y/n)? Down here, Helen Keller!"

You slowly look down, to see a talking... doll.   
The scream you let out is inhuman, and the doll covers his ears, backing away.

"Hey hey wait! Don't kick me! It's-- it's me!"

"What the fuck!?" The doll goes sailing across the room and smashes into the wall. He picks himself back up with a shake, and holds his head.

"SHIT! It's-- ah, it's me, princess, just take it easy--"

"I've finally lost it. That's it--"

"Hey!"

"I've gone absolutely out of my mind, it's the stress of--"

"Would you shut the FUCK up for a second?!"

You glance down, and gasp. That sounded like... "Charles?" you breathe, voice wavering.

"So how's _your_ night been?" he sighs.

\---

You sit on the couch, Charles beside you. "So... you transferred your soul into that?" you swallow. He looks down. 

"It's not that bad in here."

"Really? Cause it looks pretty bad."

"Geez, you sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself."

"Are you a guy, though?" 

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your dick is probably the size of a carrot."

"Fisting is a thing you know!"

"You're plastic!"

"So are dildos, I don't see you burning your collection anytime soon." You acknowledge this with a nod. "I was dyin', alright?! Would you rather me be dead or good in the sack?!"

"Well..."

"Don't answer that." You both glance at each other, and start to giggle. Then your smile falters, and he places his hand over yours.   
"I know it's... a little strange."

"God. I'm being so selfish. What about you?! You've died and become a doll. I don't know what I'd do if I went through that."

"Cry, probably."

"Yeah, probably."

"I was close. I was definitely close." He sighs. "I... got scared. I've never felt that scared, and I hated it. All I could think about was you."   
You lean over, and cradle him.

You then skake your head, still unable to grasp this as reality. "You're..."

"A doll, I know! You've said that four times in the past fifteen minutes, I get it!"

"My boyfriend is a doll."

"I'm IN a doll, Einstein. There's a big fucking difference."

"So what do you have to do to get out of there?"

He shrugs. "How the hell should I know? I should probably start by finding my body, getting it to a black market doctor or somethin', and jumping back in there before I start to, uh..." He shudders. "Rot."

You shudder too, and nod. "You need help?"

"Nah, babe. I think I'll just drag a full grown man out from a coroner's basement lookin' like a Good Guy."

You smile, and sit him on your lap. "You know... I always had a thing for gingers."   
He whips his head around, and growls.

"DON'T START!" 

You laugh, and set him down. "Well, Chucky. I think a trip to the morgue is in order."


	3. Chapter 3

Your dark sunglasses keep your eyes shielded in the dark as your heels click against the sidewalk. Chucky is cradled in one arm, your purse in the other, as you try your best to look like a widow who you'd dare not trifle with.

"What are we gonna say when we get there, genius?" Chucky mutters into your arm. You shake him.

" _We're_ not gonna say anything. Don't talk in public." He grumbles some expletive back, but otherwise keeps quiet. You come up on the morgue downtown after passing through a group of whistling street-workers. You can feel Chucky's fists clench and his mouth vibrating against you as he no doubt curses them out, but he knows nobody can see him like this-- nobody's who's expected to live, that is. You hug Chucky closer to you as you enter, and his face ends up in your cleavage.

"Great tits," he says, and you knock him in the head.

" _Shh_! Good evening," you say to the man at the front, and he looks at you skeptically, checking the time.

"Hello. How may I help you?"

"I know it's awful late, but," you lean forward on the table, and start to produce some tears for him. "M-My husband was just... k-k-killed! Oh!" The man looks extremely uncomfortable as he attempts to comfort you.

"Eh... I'm quite sorry to hear that, miss, but-- this is a morgue, not a funeral parlor."

"Listen," you sniff, drying your eyes tenderly, "I was just wondering if you'd be a _doll_ and just let me take a peek at him. One last time, before he... goes into that light and crosses the rainbow bridge!" Chucky makes a gagging noise where he's stuffed into your breasts, and you squeeze them tighter around his face to shut him up.

"No intention of sounding insensitive miss, but," the man sighs, "If your husband is here, he's already crossed it." You start to sob again to save face, which proves a good distraction-- the man awkwardly keeps comforting you. "B-but... I suppose... one last look, wouldn't hurt anyone, seeing as you've made the trip with-- that." He eyes Chucky with a frown, and you hoist him up as the man leads you downstairs.

"Oh, this old thing? It was my husband's favourite toy!"

Charles snickers, and the man turns around suspiciously as you try to mask it as your own. He shakes his head, and unlocks a door to a grimy room. "I must warn you. Seeing them this way can be shocking. I really must stress that it's typically more pleasant to remember them how they were."

"I'm sure he's much less obnoxious now!" you giggle, and Charles pinches you. You let out a squeal, and the poor, tired mortician stares at you, missing the joke completely.

"Which one is your husband?"

"Oh," you bite your lip. You hadn't thought of this part. "Well, um... I was hoping I could have some time alone."

"But which body shall I pull out, miss?"

You swallow, and you hear Chucky hissing something to you. You hear, and look back up. "John Midriff!"

The mortician hesitates. "Mr. Midriefe?"

You cough. "Well. Johnny always... pronounced it differently than everyone else. Y'know how... French people get."

"Mr. Midriefe was from Madrid."

"His mother was French. We don't talk, she... hates me. Anyway!" The body is pulled out, to reveal what looks to be a 90 year old man. You mentally do a face palm, and you can feel Chucky shaking with quiet laughter. _Boob squeeze time._ He shuts up.

"The most I can give you is five minutes. For liability purposes," he nods, and you smile sweetly at him.

"Thanks a bunch." You watch him leave. For all that man's stoicism, he sure wasn't as careful as he should be with his business. He didn't even ask for your ID! You yank Charles off your chest, and he sputters.

"Okay, on any other given day, getting suffocated by your jugs would be top of my to-do list, but tonight? NOT SO MUCH!"

"Keep your voice down you little shit, he'll hear us."

"Ya weren't calling me _little_ the other night."

"Need I remind you that that was when you were a MAN?!"

"Everything alright in there?" the mortician calls, knocking lightly.

"Oh, fine!" you trill, "I was just... talking to myself! In different voices!" You grimace, and drop your volume. _"Why the hell did you say this old geezer's name?!"_

"This guy was my last kill," Chucky tells you proudly, standing on top of the covered body, "I knew he'd be around."

"You killed an _old man_?!"

"He wouldn't give me his watch." You sigh.

"Let's just find you and get out. This place creeps me out."

"I don't know. I kinda like it."

You two start searching. Charles finally finds his tag on the bottom right, and you try to open it, only to discover it's got a padlock on it.

"Official police business," you mumble, and Chucky smirks.

"Who knew I was so important?"

You check your purse, and pull out some lock-picking materials. You had learned those always come in handy. After a few tries, you finally get into the sealed off compartment, and pull him out.

Charles shudders. "Kinda weird, seeing yourself as a stiff."

"It's depressing," you huff, cringing at the blood still splattered all over his dumb trench coat from the gunshot, "That's my boyfriend." Chucky notices how small your voice sounds, and nudges your leg as affectionately as he can manage.

"Don't worry, babe. _I'm_ your boyfriend... and I'll be back in there in no time!"

"If we pull this off," you sigh, and pick Chucky up with one arm, using the other to try and hoist his human body. This is going to be impossible if the mortician is waiting out there. You need a distraction.

"I know just what you're thinking," he says, and grins, opening the door. Out in the hall, the mortician looks to the door, and sees no one coming out. He looks behind him. Just then, Chucky tosses something upstairs, and he sighs, climbing them. You pop your head out the door, and look around. Once you're sure the coast is clear, you drag Charles' dead weight out, looking to see an elevator. You get in, and go up.

In the elevator, Charles' body slumps on you so that his hand brushes between your legs. You scowl at him.

"Even when you're dead, you're a fucking pervert." The elevator dings at the main level, and you drag the body out.

The mortician looks away from his desk where he heard the strange bump, and starts to walk toward the elevator. You quickly drag Charles as fast as you can, but at the very last minute as you're going out the door, he sees you, and just who you're dragging.

"Charles Lee Ray?!" he shouts, and looks to you. "Stop! That's official police evidence!"

Inside, Chucky thinks fast. He grabs a letter opener from the desk, and takes a leap off, shoving it through the mortician's neck from behind. The man chokes, blood pouring from the stab, and he falls to the ground. You gasp, but quickly put your sunglasses back on, looking around. Chucky shoves the guy's head back inside the door, and closes it, running over to you. He climbs onto your back and holds your own neck as you use both hands to drag him down the alley toward home.

_"Hey... be careful with me... you don't know where that brick wall has been!"_

You finally get home, and with thankfully no sign of Mrs. Merri next door, you two lock yourselves in.

"I've gotta say, I can't believe we pulled that off," he says, staring at his body on the hardwood floor of your house.

"Right. Next step. What do we do now?"

He scurries over to the table, and opens a drawer, getting his voodoo book out. "Now doll? We chant."

 You follow his list of instructions, lighting the candles and preparing the pentacle. You never thought you'd ever get involved with all his creepy voodoo shit-- you're content just being a dancer, thanks, but it looks like you don't have much choice anymore.

Once everything is set up, Chucky walks over, and goes to put his hand on his own forehead. Then he hesitates, looking up at you. You know that look.

"What?" You cross your arms.

"Well... I kinda wanna test a hypothesis. Ya know-- while I have the chance." He smirks, and you raise an eyebrow. "Pick me up and kiss me."

You smirk too, and though it's terribly strange and strangely terrible, you pick the doll up, sealing your lips over the plastic ones. They miraculously move against yours as you let out a soft moan, and Chucky's hands go to your shoulders, holding onto you as you make out with the doll. When you pull away, you smile coyly, and he looks down.

"Yup. My hypothesis was completely correct!"

You drop him back down as he cackles uncontrollably, and he snorts through it. "W-what about this-- if a doll transfers his soul to a human body... does... ha-- does the boner stick around?!" More uncontrollable laughter.

"Why don't you find out, Einstein?" you mutter, "Say the damn chant."

He shakes himself off, and takes his position again, resting his hand atop his head.

_"Ade due damballa... give me the power I beg of you!"_

Thunder goes off outside, and you jump, looking around. You thought the voodoo was just a bit of fun back when you and Charles had first met, but now, it was frightening you.

"What're you quivering for?" he looks up at you, "Relax, babe. I've got this!" He finishes his chant as more storm clouds swell. You feel the windows shaking, and cover your ears with your hands as it reaches a breaking point. Chucky shouts something, and in a powerful burst, all the windows shatter, and a lightning strike hits the top of the house.

After a few seconds, you open your eyes again, and look around.

"Chucky?" you murmur, peering around through the glass. You wave away smoke, and see the doll that previously held your boyfriend's soul lying, as motionless as it should be, on the floor. Beside it, Charles' body lay just as still. "Baby?" You crawl over, and poke him. You shake him a little more, and feel his neck.

No fucking pulse.

"No," you whisper, fresh tears gathering. The chant must have gone wrong... maybe you can't use it more than once or something. But voodoo wasn't like credit cards, there shouldn't be a limit... _Oh god._ You don't know anything about voodoo, or any of this necromancy shit. All you know is, your boyfriend is dead, again, and gone for good this time.

"Unless your ghost decides to jump out this time," you snap, looking around the empty place. But nobody answers. Not even a creak.

Numb from all the crying earlier that night, you stand, forcing yourself over to the kitchen. You pour another martini (more like a glass of vodka), and down it. Maybe there was something in the book that could fix this... You decide against looking, though. That'll just further complicate things. It could even kill you-- or end with you selling your soul to Satan or something, which, even for your Chucky, totally wasn't worth it.

You sniffle, holding up a glass. "I loved you with all my heart, baby. I'm sorry it had to end like this-- I'll always be your (y/n)." You go to drink, but let out a shriek as someone wraps their arms around you from behind.

"Don't think you can get rid of me that easy, kid."

You'd shove him for scaring you, but honestly, you're immune to anything at this point. You turn around ecstatically, and throw your arms around his (human!) neck, hugging him close. You pull away to kiss him all over his face, and despite himself, he grins.

"Man, it feels good to be back."

Then he falls over.

\----

"Baby? Chucks? Fucky Chucky?"

He groans. "Agh... fuck... you..."

You sigh in relief, and prop his head up under a pillow. He suddenly winces, and looks down at fresh blood seeping through his shirt, and more running from his mouth.

"Aw shit," he says.

"What?"

"The chant brought me back... but it didn't heal my fuckin' body."

Your eyes widen as you stroke his black hair out of his eyes. "What can we do?"

He wipes at his lip. "What did we do with the doll?"

"I threw it out! I never want to see another Good Guy again."

"Dammit. We gotta go see the guy who got me started on all this voodoo shit. John Bishop."


End file.
